


A Different Kind of Scar

by starry_eyed_maiden



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, Fade to Black, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Power of Words, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 03:31:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11889048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starry_eyed_maiden/pseuds/starry_eyed_maiden
Summary: Based on a Tumblr prompt on socialising. Old wounds have whatever power we give them.





	A Different Kind of Scar

_Neil was pretty sure that by this point, there was nothing Andrew could do that would surprise him. Unpredictable, but unsurprising. But for someone so quiet, Andrew definitely knew the power of words._

_He wouldn’t say it out loud, but Andrew trusted Neil. He knew Neil could_ understand _. And their most recent game had Andrew completely drained. The only one he wanted to see was Neil._

 

Nicky bounced into their dorm room. “Party. Downstairs. Five minutes.” He darted into the bedroom and began digging around for something.

Neil couldn’t see into the bedroom from his spot on the couch—Andrew’s lap. He heard the bottles clinking a few seconds before Nicky emerged. “Two minutes.” He waggled a bottle pointedly in front of Andrew then spun around and left the door open as he disappeared down the hall.

They’d just won their first match of the new season. Summer had brought new recruits; Neil could tolerate most of them, maybe even liked one or two. But he couldn’t help thinking what it would be like when the girls left next year. Vice captain was hard enough, how could he take Dan’s place?

Neil opened his mouth to say, “Shall we?”, something of risk since Andrew had been even moodier than usual all week. But Andrew stood up before he got the words out, dragging him onto his feet.

“That was my whiskey.” He pulled Neil toward the door. Neil wrapped his free hand around Andrew’s wrist, carefully feeling for the concealed blades. It was Nicky’s lucky night. They weren’t there. That man had a death wish, and Neil needed to stop being surprised by that.

 

 The basement party space was dark. Music was blasting and dancing bodies flashed in the strobe lights one of the Vixens had set up last spring. They edged around the dancefloor to find a table laden with alcohol, where Nicky was busy unloading his upstairs stash. Andrew dropped Neil’s hand and was behind Nicky before he knew it and snatched his bottle off the table a fraction of a second after it had hit the wooden surface. His other hand swatted Nicky on the back of his head. As Andrew turned back to Neil, Nicky grinned over his shoulder.

Andrew and Neil found themselves perched in an old armchair in the corner, several feet from the couch where the upperclassmen nursed their own drinks. Allison lifted an eyebrow when Andrew pulled Neil off the arm and into his lap. Dan followed Allison’s gaze and winked.

Andrew unscrewed the bottle and took a drink. He passed the bottle to Neil. The burn was familiar and safe. Neil might have been more comfortable drinking with just the Foxes, but with the larger group, one sip was all he’d have.

Once again Neil found his hand on Andrew’s forearm and was again struck but the unusual lack of metal underneath. He knew better than to ask. Instead, he leaned down to Andrew’s neck and smiled when Andrew shuddered beneath his lips.

Andrew shook his head and Neil straightened up. He saw Andrew’s glare at the freshmen moving in a group around the dancefloor, making for the upperclassmen. Neil managed a weak smile at them. But Andrew’s voice was barely audible over the music and laughter around them. “Please don’t make me socialise.”

Neil froze. It was the second time he’d heard Andrew say “please” since he learned why he hated the word. The first time had been a few days after the championship game last spring. Neil had awoken from a nightmare clutching his arm, believing in those moments that he was with his mother and they were running. Andrew had pinned Neil down and unwound the bandages from Neil’s left arm. His hands came away sticky. “Abby,” he’d said as he pulled Neil out of bed, grabbing his cellphone and keys from the dresser as he went.

“N-no. Vodka,” Neil had stuttered.

Andrew made it to the wall and turned on the light. Angry red lines, swollen with pus, crossed Neil’s arm.

Andrew looked from the blood to Neil’s eyes. “Abby,” he said again. “Please.”

Neil stood still while Andrew rewrapped the bandage and obediently followed Andrew to his car. It wasn’t until the next morning that Neil register what he’d heard.

And tonight, it caught him off-guard again. If any other word had come out of Andrew’s mouth, Neil would have pushed for ten minutes. Then ten more. But instead he led Andrew out of the darkened room, ignoring Nicky’s beaming face next to Aaron’s quiet disgust.

 

They made their way to the roof, where they sat down facing each other and passed the bottle back and forth. After several minutes, Andrew set the bottle aside and pulled off his armbands. He let them fall in a pile between them.

Neil hardly dared to whisper, “Why?”

Andrew glared at him, reaching for the bottle once more and draining it. He tossed it aside and reached for Neil’s wrists. He slowly unrolled them from Neil’s forearms and left them on top of his own. His fingers traced each line on Neil’s arms, every scar left by Lola’s knife. The burns and cuts were fading, but they would never go away. Neil’s mouth went dry.

They sat there in silence for several minutes, Andrew’s fingers going over and over the marks. His hand moved up to Neil’s face, where he gently marked out the burn patterns across the skin. His hand cupped Neil’s cheek. He leaned forward. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

 


End file.
